The Long Way Back
by cammiekaye
Summary: A battered young man is found in a field without any memory of who or what he is.  How did he get there and who is he?  Set post Series 3, so spoilers for LOTTL.
1. Teaser

Author's Note: This is my first time ever posting my fanfic or even using this software, so please be kind and review. I also have a tendency not to finish what I've started, so if you like the story and want more, you know what button to click!

Disclaimer: I own nothing (except for my original characters)

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The Long Way Back  
(Teaser) 

On a small twin bed lay a tall, thin, sleeping man. To any observer, this man looked to be in great pain. He was bandaged and bruised and the mess of his bed betrayed a restless night. Slowly, the man opened his eyes to a blurry world and moaned. Moments later, a grandmotherly woman walked anxiously into the room.

"So, finally, the mystery man awakes! My boy, Jeffrey, and I have been waiting for some sign of life from you for a full day," She paused, hoping for a reply, but received only a glazed look from her guest. "He found you laying half dead in the middle of a field! Can you imagine that?" The man remained silent, but the woman persisted, "Oh, but I've forgotten my manners. My name is Rebecca. And who would you be, Mr. Mystery Man? We had to change you out of your clothes…the outfit you had on was ripped to pieces, but we couldn't find any I.D… just an old letter written to a Doctor. Is that you?"

The bleary-eyed man looked up at her and said simply and in an English accent, "I can't remember who I am or...," he continued, looking down at his battered body, "what happened to me."


	2. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Reviews already! Thank you tr1990 and arwyn for your kind words! Keep reading & reviewing!

Disclaimer: Um... I own a David Tennant doll (two, actually)... does that count? No?

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Doctor Who: The Long Way Back 

Chapter 1

After Rebecca's brief conversation with her guest, she walked upstairs to where her son sat reading a medical book. Living outside a small midwestern town, the two had never had much except each other. Rebecca and her husband had waited until their forties to start a family, and only a few years after Jeffrey arrived, Rebecca became a widow. The house was paid for and Rebecca received a small amount from the government, but they'd never had enough money for any extravagances. In his twenty-sixth year, Jeffrey had never been to college (who would take care of his mother?), but he still yearned to learn. Everyday after work, he would stop by the library to pick up a book on a new subject. Since he'd discovered the mystery man, he'd focused on reading up on medicine and biology.

It was pure happenstance that Jeffrey had even found the man. Normally, he caught a ride home from town, but on that night, he'd been so engrossed in his latest obsession (classic science fiction literature, in this case, HG Wells), that he'd decided to stay until the library had closed. On the walk home, he'd walked through the neglected field of a neighbor, who had long ago moved away. Through the lines of grass he'd seen a flash of blue. As he approached, he found that the blue belonged to the remains of a suit of a wounded man, who appeared to be only a few years older than Jeffrey himself. Even in the fading light, he could tell that the man was still alive, but was at the very least, severely beaten and bruised, and in dire need of help. Since he was far closer to home than town, he decided to head home and somehow managed to carry the unconscious form all the way there. When the man failed to wake up, Jeffrey grew more worried.

When Jeffrey arrived home, his mother was ready to ask him why he was so late, before she saw the form in his arms. She asked him to lay the man on the couch, and after Rebecca retrieved the first aid kid, a bowl of water, and soap, she began to wash the dirt off the victim's skin. After she started washing off the poor man's face and arms, she could quickly tell that the man was slightly flushed, perhaps having an infection from one of the many scrapes that, along with bruises, covered his skin. Deciding that a small bowl of water wouldn't be enough, she ran a cool bath while her son found a pair of old pajamas that might fit this poor stranger. When the bath was ready, Jeffrey brought the stranger in, undressed him, and placed him in the tub, in his mother's care. While Rebecca washed, Jeffrey looked through the pockets of the stranger's clothes. Neither found much positive in their tasks. As the grime melted away from the stranger's body, Rebecca found more and more angry cuts and bruises. The arms looked like the man had fallen through brambles, and the bruises on the rest of his body seemed to indicate that he had fallen many times and hard. Bruises across his ribs and back showed that he would be in quite a lot of pain, while the gash and knot on the side of his head indicated that he probably wouldn't be awake to feel the pain for awhile. Even after washing the man, cleaning and covering his wounds, and with her son's help, clothing him, the pair hadn't heard much more than a moan from him. Finding no wallet or identification, the two didn't even know what to call this silent man.

After his mother had returned from visiting their guest, Jeffrey looked at her and asked what had happened. She explained the man's confusion upon waking, and hearing this, Jeffrey began to speak, "Well, waking up sounds like a good sign. Who knows how long it would have taken to get him looked at by an actual doctor. Doc Wells is nice and all, but the last time you were sick, it took him five days to finally come around to see you, and when he did, he just told you to stick with a routine of bed rest. What did he think we were doing?"

Rebecca grinned at her son. He was always so caring, but in truth, it really had been little more than a head cold. Her son continued, "Well, I guess we need to call him something, and if he can't remember who he is, I guess we can just pick something. How about John?"

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The next day, the man with no memory awoke to a no longer blurry room and was finally able to make out some details. As he raised his upper body, he found that the room was small but quaint. The small bed that he was on was pushed to one side, and opposite it was a dresser and a small closet. In front of the closet sat a young man dozing in a wooden chair. Correction, there was a formerly dozing young man, who had roused at his movement. 

"So, my momma was right. Our mystery man can wake up. That's great news! Can you remember anything more?" Jeffrey paused, but at the shake of the other's head, he continued, "Well, me and my mother, that's Rebecca to you… oh, and you can call me Jeff or Jeffrey… we decided that you need a name until you can remember your real one, that is. So, if it's okay with you, we'll just call you 'John'"

Though he could remember very little at this point, something about that name seemed very familiar to him, and not just because it was so common. Perhaps it actually was his name? Putting that thought aside, he replied to his new acquaintance, Jeffrey, "That would be fine, Jeffrey. And though I can't really remember much, I seem to remember something your mother said about you rescuing me. Is that true?"

Jeffrey shrugged his shoulders and explained the story of the last day and night to John and continued, "We were worried when you were so quiet. We called the doctor..." John started, but Jeffrey didn't notice. "But I figure that ol' Doctor Wells isn't liable to come by if your brain isn't leaking out of your ears, which I guess isn't too far from the truth." Jeffrey paused and sniffed the air, before hearing his mother call from the kitchen. "It smells like Mom has cooked up something good for us. If you don't feel up to it, I can just get you a plate, but I take you as the type of man who isn't still for long."

In reply, John tried to stand up, wobbling a bit before Jeffrey grabbed him. He closed his eyes for a second, hoping for the dizziness and nausea to pass. When it subsided a bit, he walked with Jeffrey to the dining table, alternating between walking unaided and grabbing onto the other man's arm to keep from falling. When they arrived, they were greeted with a simple table of fried chicken, potatoes, green beans, and corn. As Jeffrey led John to a seat, the two were welcomed with Rebecca's glowing smile.

"So, my boy's already getting you up and around, is he? Well, I'm glad to see you moving, even if it still looks like a small wind would knock you over. And your bones! When was the last time you ate? No wonder my Jeffrey found you the way you were. No doubt you collapsed from hunger to get all those bumps and bruises," she joked, "A good home-cooked meal is all you need. Please, eat up."

After her long speech, Rebecca wasn't surprised at the simple nodding of her guest. In fact, she would've been more surprised had she heard more than a few words from him, as despite her words, she thought that this John should still be in bed. Heedless of this thought, she began to fill her boys' plates before sitting down and joining in the meal. She and Jeffrey started to make small talk, hoping to make their guest feel more comfortable as he ate, but it seemed that this wasn't necessary.

"Thank you for your kindness, Mrs?"

"Back before my husband died, it was Schmidt, but like I said before, please just call me Rebecca."

"Rebecca... I seem to remember knowing a Rebecca. In fact, you look a bit like her, older mind you..."

"Hey," protested Jeffrey, "I know you're sick and all, but... Wait a minute, you told her that you couldn't remember anything. Then how can you know that she looks like someone you know?"

"I'm sorry. I suppose that I must be rude," John explained. "Rude and not ginger. The thing is, I get these flashes of memory. It's rather disconcerting. It's like, I'm speaking, but then someone else, maybe the real me, comes out to finish the thought. Then, it goes away and I'm stuck as I am, with no memory and little reference to what I just said."

Jeffrey looked a little more wary at this admission, but Rebecca remained sympathetic. After he finished eating, John spoke again, "Thank you for your kindness, both of you. Most people wouldn't make such a fine meal for a complete stranger. I'm afraid I can't repay you, but..." he said, as he began to stand up, "I can help you by ceasing to be a burden. Goodbye…"

This self-sacrificing moment would have been much more impressive had he not begun to swoon. Almost instantly, Jeffrey and Rebecca were at his side. Rebecca began to speak first, "Not so fast young man. I may not be your mother, but if you were my son, I wouldn't let you to the front door in this state. We'll get you back to bed until the doctor comes. If he says you're fine, you're welcome to go. Until then, I think its best that you rest a bit more."

With the help of Jeffrey, John obeyed and returned to his room. However, he was no longer prepared to simply stay quiet, even if he waited until he was out of earshot to speak, "Well your mother is a bit forward, isn't she? I seem to remember someone very much like her… ordering me about. Perhaps it was my mother?" he questioned,

"Or, perhaps it was your wife," Jeffrey replied.

"No, no, I don't think so." John shrugged, "It looks like I'll be on your hands for a while longer even though I'm really fine. I mean, I'm a bit sore and I have a horrible headache, but other than that and a bit of dizziness, I'm fine. I hate to be a burden, I really do…"

"You're welcome, but you're staying until the doctor comes by. You haven't seen my mom when she gets mad. Oh, sure, she seems pleasant enough, but if I do something that she doesn't like, I'll hear about it for at least a month, if not the rest of my life. No, you just lie down, and I'll call the doctor again."

* * *

John hadn't meant to fall asleep again, but sometime later, he awoke to voices outside the room. Along with Rebecca and Jeffrey, he heard a third voice, which he guessed was the doctor's. 

"Now, Jeffrey, it's a Saturday evening. I know that you're still annoyed with me over that last time, but you always overreact. Even your mother agrees. I mean, look at her, she's fine!"

Angrily, Jeffrey replied, "Did you even listen to my message? It's not her, and anyway, what's so bad about me being concerned about my own mother's well-being. Last night, I found a guy in the field next door, and he looked like he'd fallen off a truck. He's beaten-up and bruised, and I think he feels worse than he lets on. He's thin as a rail but barely ate anything, and he hasn't even been awake an hour since he's been here."

"Okay, okay," Doctor Wells responded, not wanting to get into another fight with this family. "I have my bag. Just let me look at the man." As he walked into John's room, he greeted the now fully awake man, "So, what seems to be troubling you, this fine evening?"

John looked at the doctor, a short and stout balding middle-aged man, and some part of him recognized that having a doctor come to you, in this day-and-age was quite the rarity: a relic from small-town America. The man looked quite weary after what was likely a long day's work, so the prospective patient hoped he wouldn't be too keen to spend too much time at the house. Finally attempting a response, John lied, "Oh, I'm fine. My hosts are simply being overprotective of me. If you can just tell them that I'm alright, I can get out of your hair, and you can go back home."

Doctor Wells didn't look too convinced, and he replied before either of the Schmidt's could go on a tirade. "Well, just by looking at your eyes, I can tell that you aren't fine. So, why don't you keep it straight with me?"

Rebecca interrupted the doctor and his patient and explained, "He told my boy earlier that he had a bad headache. Look at that gash on his head. It's a miracle that his brain didn't fall out."

"Oh, and if you didn't listen to my message," Jeffrey added, "Then you don't know that he also has amnesia. He can't remember who he is or where he's from… but he sounds like he's English. Maybe someone beat him up after that mess with the president and those aliens."

"Thanks for the commentary, both of you, but I need to examine this patient. That means getting some of the story from him. Now, both of you wait outside, and I'll talk to you after I finish with… what was your name?"

"Like I said," Jeffrey replied, "He doesn't remember his name, so we've just been calling him John."

"Thank you, Jeffrey. After I finish with John, then I'll talk with you two." The pair didn't move, so Doctor Wells continued, "That means please go now, and close the door behind you."

After the Schmidt's had left the room, Doctor Wells returned to his patient and started to question him, "So, is that true? How do you really feel?"

Resigned to telling the truth, John explained, "Like Jeffrey said, I feel as if I've been hit by a truck. I only really tried to get up once today, and I became so dizzy that I could barely walk. My head is pounding, and I just can't think straight. I don't remember anything clearly before waking up today… just flashes… a blue box…someone in my arms… deep sadness. I know there is more, but if I think too much, then it feels like someone is drumming in my skull."

Doctor Wells gave a sympathetic look, "Well, after I look you over, I'll see if I can't give you something for the pain." With that, he began his examination, first checking his patient's vitals and then checking and re-bandaging the wounds that Mrs. Schmidt had seen to. As he checked John's temperature, blood pressure, and chest, he frowned. "Your temperature is a little bit lower than I'd like, but not dangerously so. The same could be said for your blood pressure. It's a bit lower than normal, and that might explain that dizziness. What worries me most is your heart. I'm no specialist, but your heart is simply not in the right place, and it shouldn't be beating this fast when you're at rest. I suspect that the placement is congenital, but I'd strongly suggest a visit to a proper big city hospital is your heart rate doesn't go down. I'm the only doctor in town, and I'm simply not equipped to help with your heart, let alone your memory loss. If you want me to, I can make some calls, and we can get you transferred somewhere by Monday."

John shook his head, "No. I might not remember much, but I do know that I don't like hospitals. Under the surface, when I think about them, I just feel pain and hurt." He grimaced as the pain in his head worsened, "All I need is time, and I'll feel better."

Seeing his patient in pain, Doctor Wells decided not to push the matter yet. "I don't think that's a good idea, but I suppose I can give you some time and see how you feel later. Despite that gash on your head and your unconsciousness, it looks like you don't have a concussion. My guess would be that you ran yourself ragged and collapsed. I'll give you some aspirin for the headache and I'll come back tomorrow. Is it okay that I explain this to the Schmidt's, or would you like for me to be as deceitful as you were earlier? I'll only warn you that the two are like pit-bulls when it comes to secrets. They'll harass you until you tell them."

John squeezed the bridge of his nose, hoping to take away the pain in his head before finally responding, "Tell them whatever you think best… just make sure that they don't worry and don't feel responsible for me. They're too kind for their own good."

"I'm not entirely sure there's such a thing, but I'll do my best. Jeffrey!" Doctor Wells called through to the other room louder than necessary, as he was sure that the family had been eavesdropping on the whole exam, "Can you please fetch a glass of water for our friend here?" Doctor Wells suspicions were confirmed when Jeffrey immediately came in with a glass of water, undoubtedly fetched when he had first mentioned aspirin. He took a bottle of the drug out of his case and gave two pills to the, by now, miserable John. "Jeffrey, why don't you keep our patient company while I talk to your mother?" Seeing a frown, he said, "Don't give me that look. You and I both know that you listened before and will eavesdrop yet again when I go outside. Just make sure that John is comfortable. If he seems to feel any worse, call me. I'm afraid that he might be well on his way to a migraine."

Of this whole conversation, John was not aware. Crushing a small warning voice in the band of his throbbing head, he took the pills with the glass of water as Doctor Wells left the room. He had his eyes closed, so he couldn't tell (or even care) for certain if Jeffrey was watching him, but he suspected not. Always the eavesdropper, that Jeffrey, John thought to himself. He waited for the aspirin to take effect, but his head was still throbbing, and now he was feeling worse. He felt some angry, itchy bumps form on his arms. As he scratched, he realized that his face was feeling a bit puffy. Opening his eyes to look at himself, he realized that it was getting harder to breathe. Hearing the wheezing, Jeffrey was already in action, calling for the doctor, the worry evident in his voice. John heard the rush of footsteps into the room but even as he heard Doctor Wells yelling orders, the world around him faded slowly to black, until he knew no more.

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AN: I know, I know... it's a cliffie of doom. I'm currently writing the next chapter, and hope to get it up by Monday. Thanks again for reading! 


	3. Chapter 2

Sorry readers that it's taken so long to update. Send all boos and hisses to my profs!  
I have already written up through chapter 5, though, so there's more to come!

Disclaimer: Still own nothing!

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Doctor Who: The Long Way Back

Chapter 2

_He was in a hospital, lying on the ground next to a young black woman in a doctor's coat. Behind him, he could hear the electricity going through the MRI. The woman was telling him something about a scanner, as he was struggling to breathe the thin air. He was so weak, but he knew that he had to move on…_

When John next opened his eyes, he could breathe again, but still felt wrong. He was extremely nauseous and just felt shaky. Looking to the only other person remaining in the room, he hoped that Doctor Wells could give him answers. Though it wasn't saying much considering his case of amnesia, he couldn't remember ever feeling quite so helpless and dependent on another being.

Noticing that his patient was awake again, Doctor Wells explained, "Well, John my boy, it looks like you've had an allergic reaction to that aspirin." Seeing John's face, he grabbed a trashcan just in time to catch Mrs. Schmidt's cooking, "The nausea will pass with time, as will the shakiness. I had to give you a shot of epinephrine. It's not really the best move for someone whose heart is already beating too fast, but it was necessary to get you breathing again." He sighed, and gave a sympathetic look, "I'm very sorry that you had to go through this, and I don't think you'll like what I have to say next. I know that you said that you hate hospitals, but I've sent out Jeffrey to get some help. At the very least, I need you in a bed at my clinic. You could have a secondary reaction, and if you stay here, this time, it could be fatal."

Doctor Wells waited for some sort of protest from John, but it looked as if the events of the last hour had taken any remaining fight out of him. After the explanation, John simply nodded and closed his eyes, waiting for the transfer. If it meant that he didn't have to go through that frightening moment again, he was prepared to do whatever it took.

Help soon arrived in the form of Doctor Wells' personal ambulance. It had been originally purchased as a joke, since there were plenty of private ambulance companies in the county, but it had come in handy time and again for the people in the area who didn't own a car and couldn't afford the charges to be taken to the hospital. Today, Mrs. Wells (the doctor's wife, nurse, and part-time ambulance driver) was driving, and with Jeffrey's help, she brought a stretcher into the Schmidt house, so that the patient could be moved. John gave a weak protest, claiming that he could, in fact, walk to the waiting vehicle, but after the death glare of Jeffrey, he simply walked to and laid upon the stretcher, allowing the others to do all the work. John remained awake and lucid, and for much of the trip, he complained about the overprotective nature of everyone involved, while Rebecca spent the time treating him like a second son. She didn't tell anybody why she behaved so, but she insisted upon riding in the back with John and held his hand for the duration of the trip.

Fortunately, the group arrived at the clinic without incident. Though Doctor Wells had called it such, it was little more than a few rooms of his private residence. The waiting room was his parlor, and two large bedrooms made up his exam and patient rooms. Most of his patients who needed observation or extensive care chose instead to go to the actual hospitals in nearby towns and cities. He kept the setup mostly for the occasional stubborn resident who needed more care than they could get at home, but for whatever reason, didn't want to leave town. He hadn't expected to use it for someone like his mysterious patient.

Once they settled John into a proper bed, Doctor Wells sent Rebecca and Jeffrey out to the parlor, while he set to work. As he did so, he explained everything to his patient, "Well, John, welcome to the Wells Clinic. You probably noticed that you're the only patient here, so you don't have to worry too much about being bothered." He looked at the pajamas that John was still wearing and continued, "In many ways, we're more easygoing here than most hospitals, but I do have to insist that you change into a hospital gown. There's a bathroom just outside in the hall, and Jenny will help you clean up while I gather up my supplies."

While Mrs. Wells helped John to the bathroom, Doctor Wells started setting up an IV pole with a bag of saline solution. While waiting, he readied a table with syringes and tubes of benadryl, epinephrine, and other medicine, just in case John had another reaction. Minutes later, John walked back without help and sat on the bed. He already looked much better, though much of the color in his cheeks was from the embarrassment of wearing a hospital gown.

"Don't you have anything else that isn't so…" he fumbled for a suitable word, "airy? I really don't see what having my bum hang out has to do with getting any better."

"Oh, I've heard it all before, but it's just to make it easier for us to take care of you if anything happens." He was mostly quiet as he took his patient's vitals, scribbling information on a notepad every few minutes. When he finished, he spoke again, "I can't say that your pulse or blood pressure are quite what I'd like, but they do seem fairly stable. I'm going to give you an IV of saline, which might help with the blood pressure. What is more important, though, is that we get some nutrients in you. It looks like you've barely eaten in days, and I don't think that you kept much of today's meal in you either. My wife is fixing you up some dinner, and it's important that you get something in you. I just need to take some blood, and we'll be done, for now."

John's eyes widened as he saw a large syringe in his doctor's hands. A few lost memories began to flash through his mind.

_In a world of darkness, a girl's voice was speaking in the distance, as if miles away, "One bottle of his blood could change the future of the human race."_

_Suddenly, the scene switched, his body felt older, and he was in an operating room with several doctors around him set to… oh, no! He concentrated on one and tried to explain, "Whatever you are about to do, stop." _

_She tried to alleviate his fears, "Mr. Smith, you're going to be alright."_

_Frantically, he told her, "No, I am not human. I am not like you!"_

_The scene fades, and he finds himself cowering in an abandoned room, wearing a shroud and a different body, with mirrored glass littering the floor. Confused and afraid, he screams, "Who am I?!"_

_Later, in this same body, the woman from the operating room is there and speaking, "Two hearts. You were right – who are you?"_

_"I was dead too long this time. The anesthetic almost destroyed the regenerative process."_

_"Oh yeah, right. Look, I'm going to take some of your blood and find out what's going on here."_

"John, are you with me," Doctor Wells was tapping his patient's face, hoping for a response. "John!"

John's eyes suddenly focused on the doctor and Mrs. Wells standing over him. He was confused and didn't realize that he'd simply checked out of reality for a short time. "What are doing that for?" he asked.

Doctor Wells gave a sigh of relief, yet again. "John, I was about to explain that I was going to take some of your blood for some tests, and you became unresponsive. You've been staring in the distance for the last five minutes. You didn't respond to pain, touch, or anything we said. How are you feeling right now?"

John replied, with a look of fear in his eyes, "Doctor, I think I might be going crazy."


	4. Chapter 3

Doctor Who: The Long Way Back

Chapter 3

After his revelation, John began to explain the memory flashes from before. "Doctor, when they happened before, they were just passing thoughts or dreams. This time, it was like I was living them. But, it wasn't me. I mean, it was me, or at least it felt like a memory of mine, but I didn't sound like this. First, there was darkness, then I was older, and then, I was young again, but I wasn't as thin, and I had longer hair. Does any of this make any sense?"

Doctor Wells had continued his work while John was talking, taking a blood sample and inserting an IV. After he finished, he replied, "John, I'm out of my depth with you. I'm used to setting broken ankles, vaccinating kids, giving referrals, nothing like your problems. This could be a sign that your memories are coming back, but I really don't know. Other than suggesting that we transfer you, I really don't know what to do other than to wait and see if this problem gets any worse."

With those words, Doctor Wells left. Moments later, Mrs. Wells arrived with a tray of food, set it down, and left herself, to allow John to rest and eat. After his earlier problems with eating, Mrs. Wells had decided to stick with something simple, if tasteless: oatmeal, some blue jello, and a foam cup filled with ice water. Before she had left, she promised something better if he was able to keep that much down. John was thankful for a bit of time to himself, but as his mind wandered, his uneasiness grew. What if there really was something different about him? Would he find himself locked up for the rest of his life? Had he escaped from somewhere? Is that the real reason that he had collapsed in this town? Had he been running?

Not long after he'd finished his unappealing meal, while he was in the midst of questioning his very existence, Jeffrey and Rebecca came into the room and sat with him. They sat, talking about everything and nothing for at least an hour, while Rebecca held his hand, before his guests were certain that he was okay and they could go. After they left, he closed his eyes, and when he opened his eyes again, Doctor Wells was standing over him, checking his vitals, yet again.

"Oh, I didn't mean to wake you, " Doctor Wells apologized, "But I just had to check that you were still okay."

"Isn't that usually a nurse's job?" John asked.

"Actually, anymore, at those big hospitals, it's more of a machine's job. But, then, I never really thought much of those things. It's like cars. Twenty years ago, if your car broke down, you could tinker around and get it working again. Now, they have computers in them, and if something's wrong, you have to hook it up to another computer to see what needs to be fixed. It'll say there's nothing wrong, but you still can drive the car. It's gotten a bit like that with medicine. No style."

John nodded, seeming to remember an appreciation for old things, and then suddenly remembering the memory flash from before, "Doctor, if I tell you something, do you promise not to lock me up?"

"Well," he said cautiously, "if you're going to tell me that you're a terrorist or something like that, no. But, if it's something about your health, I'm your doctor. My first rule is to do no harm. I dare say that 'locking you up' would fit in that realm."

John began, "Earlier, when you said that I blacked out, I told you about looking different, but it was more than that. There was this woman, a surgeon, and she called me Mr. Smith. She said that I would be okay, but I told her that I wasn't human. When, I saw her again, I was younger than when I saw her the first time, but it was actually later. It makes no sense, but it feels real. What if the dream was real? You said that my heart was messed up – maybe I'm not human, and you're just keeping me here so that you can experiment on me." By now, John had moved from being calm to manic.

Doctor Wells attempted to calm his patient. "You're still pretty mixed up. I called a colleague of mine earlier. We discussed victims of amnesia and what you're feeling, it's not uncommon. Some of these might be genuine memories and some could be dreams or movies, but you've obviously mixed events up. You've been through a lot, and your mind is just trying to cope at this point. I still think it could be a good sign; the rest of your help is certainly looking better. I don't see any sign of a secondary reaction up to this point, and I think you'll be ready to head back to the Schmidt house tomorrow. Your blood pressure is still a bit low, and your heart a bit off, but it's starting to look like it's a pre-existing condition. Your temperature is on the lower range of normal at 97 degrees, but I'm not too worried about that. A lab tech friend of mine is visiting tomorrow, and I'm going to have him check your blood out first thing Monday morning. I'll hopefully know what's wrong soon after. Don't worry, I might look like an artifact from a bygone age, but I do still have some connections. Now, you go ahead and get back to sleep, and I'll see you in the morning. No doubt Jenny will be anxious to feed you all of her specialties before she let's you out of her sight."

John nodded, but once Doctor Wells left the room, he failed to go to sleep for a long time. Instead, he became a prisoner of his own mind, thinking through everything way too much. Again, he though to himself_, what happens when he finds out that I'm not normal? Wait, what? I'm normal, aren't I? He just told me so. I just have an active imagination. When I wake up in the morning, everything will be okay._

The nighttime passed, and John never did fall back into anything but a restless slumber. No longer particularly concerned about his physical health, he was worried about his memory and sanity. Little did he know that there was, indeed, something horribly wrong with him internally. For, though his doctor saw his temperature as returning to normal, he was actually still running a horrible fever by the standards of his people. No one knew yet that he was an alien without a home who had saved the planet countless times and whom everyone had known and forgotten in an instant. But soon, he would be discovered, and time was running out, in more ways than one.


	5. Chapter 4

AN: I've got some issues with the pacing of this chapter, but I get the feeling that if I obsess over this too much, it's never going to get finished. It also hasn't been BETA-ed, so please, feel free to critique any boo-boos... just please be kind! New author here & I do love to read reviews!

Disclaimer: If I owned this, I'd be in Cardiff right now... or at least on that side of the Atlantic!

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Doctor Who: The Long Way Back

Chapter 4

Sunday morning found John waking up to the smell of bacon. He went to the nearby bathroom, and when he returned to the room, he found a full breakfast waiting for him on a tray: two fluffy buttermilk biscuits, hash browns, scrambled eggs, three pieces of bacon, and a glass of orange juice. He set aside the orange juice and began to eat heartily. Oh, the people around here knew how to cook. Delicious!

"So, I see that you're feeling better," a female voice said. "It's not exactly the usual fare for hospitals, I know, but Jack will be happy to see that you have your appetite back." Looking at the discarded glass of orange juice, she continued, "I take it that you're not a fan of OJ?"

John said between bites, "Oh, yeah. I'm sorry about that. We barely had a chance to speak last night, and I don't think that I ever thanked you for being such a lovely hostess, Mrs. Wells."

"Please, call me Jenny."

"Jenny, then, did you make this plate of delicious food?"

"Oh, you're too kind," she said, blushing. "It's just a simple breakfast – anyone could make it. It just tastes so good to you because you were practically starving."

John choked on the comment, "What is it with everyone talking about how thin I am? Maybe I just have a high metabolism. See? I'm eating."

"You sound just like my younger sister. She was always talking about being too thin and not being able to put on weight. Then, when she matured, she was always complaining that she couldn't get anything to fit both her chest and her waistline. I can't say that I ever felt much sympathy for her in that respect."

"Jenny, are you embarrassing our patient this fine morning?" Doctor Wells asked, as he entered the room. "Let him eat in peace. He doesn't need to know your entire family history." He paused as if considering his next sentence, "Why don't you go fetch that outfit for John here while I check him up one last time."

Jenny obviously felt affronted and momentarily looked ready to start an all out fight with her husband. "I will not 'fetch' anything for you, Jack. I am not a dog. And as for my family… I'll go and get the outfit for John, but we will talk about this later."

As Mrs. Wells left, John smirked and said, "She told you. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes tonight, though feisty women, I do like those," he paused, "at least I think I do…a bit funny, that amnesia. So, what's the verdict?"

"Oh, I just do that sometimes to keep a little excitement in the marriage." He then focused back on his duties, "Just as I said last night, you look stable enough, and obviously, you're getting a bit of energy back. Maybe Mrs. Schmidt was right, and you just needed a good meal in you, without having an allergic reaction." Doctor Wells didn't look too convinced of his own words. "Anyway, your vitals are stable, and Jenny is getting you something to wear other than that gown. The clothes will be ready for you when you finish your shower."

Doctor Wells stayed with John and helped him until he was to the shower. He might not have a fever, but John still felt like he was burning inside. After Doctor Wells had left, he took off the flimsy gown and stepped into the shower, turning the knobs until the water was ice cold. _Oh, that feels so much better, _he thought to himself. He just stood like that, letting the cold water fall upon his head for several minutes. Doctor Wells had told him that he looked like he had more energy, but the truth was, he knew that he still felt weaker than he should. It was like his heart had to overcompensate for something.

John's mind started wandering again and he blushed when he thought about how thoroughly he must've been washed by Rebecca the night before. _Good thing that Jack wasn't there_, he thought to himself. _Wait a minute, who's Jack?_ Distracted again, he looked at the shower caddy, spotting a bottle of banana smoothie scented body wash and thought to himself, _Ooh, I do love a good banana_. He took a big squirt of the substance and washed up with it, before rinsing off and turning off the water. Drying off the excess water, he was already feeling a bit warm, but he didn't plan to tell Doctor Wells. If he did, there's no chance that he'd be able to avoid a trip to an actual hospital, and something told him that'd be a very bad thing. No, it was best to get away from the medical man.

He tied his towel around his waist, left the bathroom, and walked over to his bed, where a not exactly flattering outfit lay. It was a pair of gray sweatpants and a gray T-shirt, which read "Property of UK" in blue. He started and nearly lost his towel when he heard the voice of Mrs. Wells.

"Sorry for the outfit…and for startling you," she amended, "but we don't really have any pants in your size. I'd imagine you're going to look a bit like a super-sized Charlie Chaplin with baggy pants and a fitted shirt like that. The shirt was my niece's… before she blossomed like her mother. UK actually stands for 'University of Kentucky,' but I just couldn't resist, you being English and all."

"Thank you, ma'am, if you'll excuse me, I'll just go…"

"Oh, yes, sorry, I'll give you some privacy." With that, Jenny left the room and closed the door behind her.

John looked at the pile of clothes before him and noticed something he hadn't seen before: the ugliest pair of pants that he'd ever laid eyes on. This pair had a blue background and was covered in pocketwatches of every color imaginable. There was something ironic in this choice, he knew, but he brushed the thought away, and simply dressed. The pants and shirt were, indeed, good fits, but the sweatpants were laughable at best. They didn't exactly look like Fatty Arbuckle's trousers (_Good chap that Fatty, it's too bad what fame did to him… wait a minute, what?!), _but they were baggy enough that he had to make full use of the drawstring to keep them up… and they still weren't long enough for his legs. When he was all dressed up, he walked out of the room and very nearly into a waiting Doctor Wells.

"Woah, it smells like a truck full of bananas just fell into the house. You're probably the first person to actually use that stuff, and definitely the only one to ever slather yourself with it so. Anyway, the Schmidt's have already called three times just while you were getting ready, so I guess it's time to get you back over there. They are such an impatient pair, especially that Jeffrey. And Rebecca, she's definitely taken a liking for you, so whatever you do, don't break their hearts and do anything bad to them. The last stranger they helped out ended up coming through and stealing them blind." John began to protest, but Doctor Wells continued, "You seem like a nice enough fella, but so did the last one. So, just take this as a warning… this town stands together."

With that rather uncomforting thought, Doctor Wells led John to the car, which he drove the few miles back to the Schmidt home. Doctor Wells was fairly silent on the ride, but halfway into it, he began to talk again, "I didn't mean to scare you back there, it's just that this town has seen some hard times. And, after all the things that have gone on the past few years…. The Cybermen, as your government called them didn't just happen in the big cities or Britain - we lost some people here, too. Now, with that mess of your Prime Minister and our President getting killed, people are scared. If you have something other than a local accent, most people are going to think that you're an alien or terrorist or something like that. I hope to death that you are as innocent as you seem, but even if you are, there are some people that you have to watch out for."

When the duo arrived at the Schmidt residence, Jeffrey and Rebecca were waiting for their new friend out front. John was a bit overwhelmed at the reception. He simply wasn't used to this. Jeffrey walked up to John with something metal in his heads, and said proudly, "A friend of mine owed me a favor, and after last night, I asked him to make this up for me." In Jeffrey's hands was a simple metal bracelet, with the words 'Allergic to Aspirin' engraved on it. "Just in case you forget again."

John was touched by the gesture, since he knew that this pair simply didn't have a lot of money to spare. He didn't know what to say, so he simply hugged Jeffrey and thanked him.

"Well, I'll leave y'all to your own devices," Doctor Wells began. "John, I should have your results before too long. I'll call as soon as I get them. Now, take care." With that, he started the car and drove off.

"What is that outfit that you're wearing?" Rebecca asked, as the three of them walked back inside.

"Oh, it's just something that Mrs. Wells gave me. I'm afraid that I left those pajamas at the house. I suppose that I just couldn't wait to get back here," he apologized suavely.

Rebecca blushed. "Oh, don't worry about it dear. I'm sure we can find something else for you to wear tonight. And, for tomorrow, I've washed and stitched up what you were wearing when you got here on Friday. But, let's not worry about that now. You go ahead and take a seat on the couch and rest a bit. We were just making some sandwiches for lunch. Both of you, take a sit, and I'll go get the sandwiches and chips for you."

John readied to protest, but as if reading his mind, Jeffrey gave him a look, which saidthat resistance was futile. A few minutes later, Rebecca returned with a large plate of ham sandwiches and a bag of crisps. "I have a pitcher of iced tea, if you'd like some," she told John, but received no response. Indeed, John was only there in body, as his mind was in another place entirely.

_He was on the ground in great pain, and someone's mother… Jackie was her name… was rambling on, while he was trying to say something very important. He had to get the words out – he knew that it could make the difference._

_"What do you need? Say it, tell me, tell me,… painkillers? Do you need aspirin? Codeine? Paracetamol? Oh, I dunno, Pepto-Bismol? Liquid Paraffin? Vitamin C? Vitamin D? Vitamin E? Is it food? Something simple? A…a bowl of soup? A nice bowl of soup? Soup and a sandwich? Soup and a little ham sandwich?"_

_He didn't have time for this. He had to…_

"John – wake up! John, are you okay?" Rebecca was asking, while shaking him. "Jeffrey, go call Doctor Wells."

"No, no… I'm okay," John protested. "I was just remembering something, and I guess I got lost in the memory."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Rebecca asked.

"Of course I am."

To prove that he was fine, John took one of the ham sandwiches and started eating it. However, he begged off on the tea, instead accepting a simple glass of water. He didn't actually know whether or not to worry about the flashes, but there was no need to worry his hosts. On the one hand, the visions gave him hope that he would remember. On the other hand, he didn't know if he was the type of person who he'd want to know. What if he was some sort of sociopath or serial killer? Perhaps it was best he didn't remember.

While Rebecca was cleaning up, Jeffrey spoke again, "When I was younger, just after my father died, I had a hard time accepting things. I turned away from everyone, and just sat it my room, waiting for him to come back. My mom took me to a psychiatrist, who told me to just write or draw what I was feeling." He handed John a notebook and a pencil. "Maybe this will help you. Maybe if you start writing or drawing, you can think through it all. It certainly won't hurt."

"Thank you, I think I'll do just that."

John picked up the pencil and paper and walked to his room. He sat down on the bed and began to concentrate on Friday night. However, he found that when he tried this, his head started drumming _da-da-da-dum, da-da-da-dum_ over and over again. He stopped concentrating on that night, and the sensation eased. Instead, he focused on the faces that he'd seen in his earlier dreams. Jackie… and she had a daughter, Rose. From the flash he remembered, he drew both of their faces. In the drawings, they both looked sad, but Rose, _his_ Rose was crying. He didn't remember her crying in the memory…. _What?_ He gasped as a vision overtook him.

_The two of them were standing on a beach, somewhere far away, and his lovely Rose was crying. It broke his hearts._

"_Am I ever going to see you again?"_

"_You can't." _

"_What're you going to do?"_

"_Oh, I've got the Tardis – same old life, last of the time lords."_

"_On your own?"_

_He finds that he can only nod._

" _I Lo…" she pauses, unable to get out the words, "I love you."_

"_Quite right, too. And, I suppose that if it's one last chance to say it, Rose Tyler…"_

And then, she'd faded away. He'd let her slip away without telling her how he felt. Why couldn't he do anything right? He'd loved her, really loved her. The more he pushed away, the more she'd pushed him back. She'd gotten him through some desperate times, saved him in ways that she'd never know, and he'd never said those three words. He dropped the notebook on the floor and finally sobbed like never before. He still didn't remember much, but he knew that he'd kept that pain bottled up for a long time, and now it all rushed out. He hadn't meant to cry out loud, but he obviously had, as Rebecca came rushing in at the noise.

"Boy, why are you crying?" she asked, sitting on the bed, next to John.

"She's gone. They're all gone. I lost them all. Everyone is gone, yet I survive. Why is that?"

Rebecca held on to the distraught man, and tried to calm him. "It's the way the world is. Someone has to be left behind, and we're just the unlucky ones. Back when my husband died, I felt just like you. He was the love of my life, but then, he was suddenly taken from me. I could barely get out of bed, and I'm afraid that I wasn't much of a mother for poor Jeffrey. Then, one day, a man came from child services and threatened to take Jeffrey from me if I didn't straighten up. It sounds strange, but something about that visit made me focus on what was important. I simply had to move past my sorrow and help my son through his. If I didn't, I'd truly be alone."

John looked up with red rimmed eyes and asked, "But what if you _had_ been alone? You had your son to look after, but I have no one."

"No dear, you're not alone. You have us. Me and Jeffrey, we'll help you through this."

"But why?" he asked. "You barely know me."

"A complete stranger helped me get through my bad times, so I guess that, in a way, I'm paying him back by helping someone else."

John said no more, but Rebecca continued holding him until she was sure that he was asleep. She let go, laying him down softly, and quietly left the room, closing the door behind her. When she walked into the living room, she began to explain to Jeffrey what had happened. "I think that he's just getting through a serious loss. He's kept it bottled up for so long, the pain has just been building and building. Now that he's let it out and had a good cry, I think he'll be much better. Still, I don't expect that he'll get up for dinner. He's worn himself out."

Rebecca and Jeffrey went about their afternoon and evening and, as expected, John didn't reappear. She wrapped up some food for dinner and after he still hadn't woken up by the time Jeffrey had gone to bed, she wrote John a letter and left it by the refrigerator. In the morning, as she prepared to make breakfast for Jeffrey, she discovered that the food, the letter, and John were all gone, as was his newly stitched suit.

Looking out the window at the early morning, she smiled and said softly, "Goodbye Doctor. Thank you and good luck."


	6. Chapter 5

AN: I have a vague spoiler warning on the summary, but I just want to emphasize that more right here, because it looks like I'm putting in some more spoilery (for end of Series 3) stuff than I'd originally planned. N. Americans who haven't already been spoiled might just want to bookmark this story and come back at the end of September.

Also, This is the last of what I have finished. HP & homework might delay the next installment, but I'm trying to finish the story before I go on vacation in August.

Disclaimer: Oh, if only...

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Doctor Who: The Long Way Back

Chapter 5

Long after Rebecca had gone to bed, John roused up and walked towards the living room. Seeing that it was long since dark, he wasn't especially surprised that he was the only one awake, and in fact, he was quite pleased. Some part of him felt certain that something bad would happen if he stayed here, but he couldn't very well leave when the others were around – they would keep delaying him until it was too late. No, it was much better to just go somewhere in the middle of the night.Passing the living room, he walked into the kitchen to find something to eat before he left. On the counter next to the refrigerator, he found an envelope, which he opened. Inside he found some money and a short letter, which he began to read.

_Dear John,_

_I don't know how I didn't realize it sooner, but I knew you a long time ago. As crazy as it sounds, I think that you were the man who helped me those many years ago, who I knew simply as The Doctor. And, if you are indeed that man, I suspect that you're probably planning to get away before you get too close. When you helped me before, you mentioned that you were never fond of saying goodbye, and I doubt that has changed._

_I'm sorry that I don't know much about you that could help, but you were a bit mysterious even when I last saw you. I've included in this envelope $100, which will hopefully get you to where you need to go. There's also a plate of food in the fridge, which you should really eat before you head out. _

_I wish you the best on your journey and only wish I could help you as much as you helped me._

_With Love,_

_Rebecca_

After he finished reading, the Doctor sat down, so that he could digest this new bit of information. The name Doctor somehow seemed to fit, but Doctor Who?

"_Just the Doctor."_

"_The Doctor."_

"_Hello!"_

"_Is that supposed to sound impressive?"_

"_Sort of._

It was that blond girl, Rose, but with longer hair, and he sounded different. These memories needed some sort of instruction manual, though he supposed that if he had that, he could just figure out who he was straight away.

Despite assurances from Rebecca, the Doctor decided that he would go after changing and eating a quick meal. Knowing that $100 was a small fortune for this family, he initially planned to leave the money, but before he left, he changed his mind and pocketed the money. He would pay them back, with interest, when he was back to himself.

Leaving the Schmidt house, he didn't really know where to go, so he just started by taking the road that led, eventually, to the highway. Under normal circumstances, he was certain that the walk would be quick and easy, but he still felt a little weak and short of breath. _I must still be getting over whatever made me pass out_.

When the Doctor made it to the highway, he then had to decide which direction to go. He was looking for a coin to flip when a truck stopped a few feet in front of him.

The driver of the vehicle, who looked as big as a retired NFL linebacker, came out of his vehicle and started shouting. "Hey, you! What are you doing walking out here on the side of the highway this early in the morning? Dark clothes, no streetlights…you're lucky that I didn't hit you. If I was driving a semi, you'd be roadkill!"

"I'm sorry, I guess I wasn't really thinking. You're the first vehicle I've seen so far, and, hey," the doctor smiled, "no harm done."

"But what are you doing walking down the highway before the butt-crack of dawn?"

"It's all the better to get up this early, get a start on a long journey. Early bird catches the worm and all that."

"Where are you going? For that matter, what the hell are you doing in the middle of Kentucky? Strange place for a Brit. " Already, it seemed that the Doctor's natural charm was working. With anyone else, the driver would have just yelled and driven off, but the Doctor was different.

"I just sort of ended up here, and I didn't really have a plan as to where I was heading. I was just about to decide when you stopped by," the Doctor said honestly, and then asked, "Where are you going?"

"Pittsburgh. The Cards are playing the Pirates – my two favorite teams. I always try to make it up there at least once a year. I lived in both cities when I was a bit younger, but now, I live way down in Tennessee. Sure, it'd be easier to go to Saint Louis or Atlanta for a game, but… wait a minute, why am I telling you all this?"

"I don't know, perhaps you're bored or lonely?"

The man gave the Doctor a look at the word lonely, but replied anyway. "Well, I don't bat for that team, but I will vote for bored. My radio went on the fritz an hour out of Nashville, and I've been trying to keep myself awake by singing, but, I'd swear that it's just driven me nuts. I mean, I'm talking to you, aren't I? I've been needing to replace that radio for a few months, but I just never had the time. And, of course, it decides to break after everywhere is closed. "

The Doctor had a sudden idea and made a proposal to the driver, "It just so happens that I'm pretty good at fixing things." _At least I hope I am._ "How 'bout we say if I can fix your radio, you'll give me a ride to Pittsburgh?"

"You're not a serial killer are you? That'd be just the thing to get killed on the way to a game, in the middle of nowhere." He paused and gave the Doctor a look, "Nah, you're too scrawny to take me. Tell you what, if you can fix that thing, I'll even throw in breakfast."

The Doctor didn't mention that he'd just eaten, but instead followed the other man to the cab of the truck. Once there, he started his attempt to repair the radio, while the driver explained the extent of the damage.

"So, English, how does it look?"

"What did you just call me? And I've just started working with your primitive tools. It wouldn't take anytime if I had my…" he trailed off.

"Yeah, yeah. All of you repair people are the same. A couple of my friends work at the same repair shop, and they're always arguing about the other's tools. So, what should I call you?"

The Doctor looked up briefly from his work and debated what to say. _Well, actually, I haven't a clue whom I am, and I don't even know how I'm fixing this radio, but some lady said that I'm called the Doctor._ Instead, he said, "People call me the Doctor, and I believe that this radio is now cured." To prove his point, he turned on the radio, and he was greeted with the singing styles of Garth Brooks.

"Well, Doc, my name is Shawn. Strap yourself in, it looks like we're going to Pittsburgh." Nodding to the radio, he continued, "I hate country music, but I doubt we'll find anything good until we get past Louisville. Tell me if there's anything you want to hear." He pressed the SCAN button, and the radio flipped through station after station.

"…_gone like a soldier in the civil war, bang…."_

"_There'll be a party on the mountain, cole slaw, pickles…."_

"…_Pussycat, pussycat, I've got flowers and lots of…"_

"…and you'll all burn in hellfire if you don't_…"_

"…_I can't decide whether you should live or die…"_

The Doctor paled when he heard that last line. Fragments of a memory began to take shape in his mind. He was in a wheelchair, and he felt so very old and weak: much weaker than how he'd even felt at the Schmidt house. He needed to stop the man who was…pushing…him…_da-da-da-dum, da-da-da-dum.._. As the memory dissolved, his headache returned.

"…back when I was in college. I didn't really know what to expect, but the station gave me an appreciation for classical music. I think my favorite has to be Puccini…. Are you okay, Doc?"

The Doctor realized that Shawn must have been talking for some time and was now glancing at him, "Sorry, my headache is just flaring up again. It's nothing. What were you saying?"

"I stopped the radio on the classical station, and explained that I started to like that kind of music when I worked at a radio station in college. Are you sure you're okay? Do you need to take something?"

The Doctor raised his left hand and showed his companion the metal bracelet he'd received from Jeffrey. "I've had bad experiences with certain medicines, so I think I'll just wait it out. It'll go away eventually."

"Yeah, I'm not a big fan of drugs, either. So, I've told you a bit about myself. What about you? You're obviously not from around here, and you seem a bit old to be hitchhiking across the country."

The Doctor decided to continue his charade of being perfectly normal and tried to be fairly vague with his answers. "I guess I never have been able to settle down, and this seemed like as good a place as any to go to."

"Were you not scared to travel here after the President and your Prime Minister died? They practically shut the borders and ports down here after that. How that helps when they were killed by those flying alien things, I don't know."

The Doctor was silent for a moment, as he had a memory of a man being vaporized by…"Toclafane," he whispered.

"What was that?

"They were called the Toclafane." _They decimated humanity, and I could do nothing but sit there helplessly. He could hear the cries of the Jones' family as they were forced to watch Japan burn, but he could only sit and stare._

Shawn continued to talk about politics and the aftermath of the assassination, and though he would chime in every so often, the Doctor found himself still focused on the flashback. With each vision, it seemed like the memories and essence of the experience lingered a bit longer, and the headache only made things worse. It was like he could only feel pain, helplessness, and misery. What kind of man was he?


	7. Chapter 6

AN: That wasn't too long before updates, was it? Really? Sorry! Please Read & Review! And remember, this is my first ever full fanfic!

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Chapter 6

Hours later, somewhere in Ohio, they stopped at a combination truck stop and restaurant for fuel and breakfast, before driving the rest of the way. The Doctor made up stories of backpacking across Europe (though for all he knew, they could actually be forgotten memories), and Shawn talked about his family, job, and more baseball trivia than the Doctor would ever care to know. After an argument over the merits of baseball versus cricket, they gave up and just talked of more trivial matters until they arrived in downtown Pittsburgh.

"Oh, I love this city. All the hills, the old buildings, and I can't forget the sports. You have to go up to Mt. Washington sometime. I used to bring all the girls up there back in college. Great times. The colleges are out now, but you'll still find a bit of life over by Pitt and CMU."

"Thanks for the ride, Shawn. You can just let me out anywhere. I'll just roam around and get myself in trouble."

Shawn chuckled. "I'll drop you off near Fifth and Forbes. There's a bus stop in front of the McDonald's and you can get to just about anywhere you'd want from there. Let me write down my cell number for you. The offer still stands – you're more than welcome to come to the game with me."

"As intriguing as that sounds, I think that I'll have to pass. I don't think I can bare sitting for another three hours."

"Your loss. Anyway, here's your stop. Are you going to be here for the fourth?"

"The fourth what?" the Doctor looked at Shawn as he got out of the truck.

"Fourth of July, of course. I know it's not something you guys exactly celebrate, but the fireworks here are stupendous. They're not as good as New York's though. If you're planning to go to New York, try to be there July 4th. It'll be hot and full of tourists, but it's still well worth it."

"That might be interesting."

As the car behind them started honking, Shawn said his final goodbyes and the Doctor walked to the sidewalk. After having just ridden to Pittsburgh because that's where the first driver he met was going, he decided that he had found his real destination: New York City. Hearing Shawn mention it, he seemed to remember going there a few times over the years, so perhaps he could find someone who knew him. Even though he didn't enjoy many of the confusing memory flashes, he knew that it was critical that he remembered more. He asked for directions from a man at the bus stop and then made his way to the Greyhound bus station.

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Stepping out into the hot and humid air in Manhattan, the Doctor was feeling uneasy and much weaker. From the time he left Shawn until the moment he arrived in New York, his symptoms had gotten worse. He'd had several memory flashes during the eight-hour bus ride, and it became increasingly difficult to make the transition back to the real world. Each time, more of the memory had bled over. After the last memory as an old man, his hands had throbbed with the pain of arthritis for a full hour before fading away. He couldn't understand why he was getting so much worse, and he really didn't have anyone here to ask for help. 

It had been the middle of the night when he'd arrived in Manhattan, but there were still people around as he stumbled into Times Square. As he looked around, the lights suddenly blinded him, and he collapsed in a heap as a burning heat took over his senses. Quickly, all of his senses were taken over, and his mind was in another world…

"_STAY AWAY FROM ME!"_

"_What's Happened?"_

"_It's your fault, Captain McDonell."_

"_Riley, get down to area 10 and help Scannell with the doors. Go!"_

_Such pain and such rage he felt! "You mined that sun. Skimmed its surface for cheap fuel. You should have scanned for life!"_

"_I don't understand."_

"_Doctor, what are you talking about?"_

"_That sun is alive. A living organism. They scooped out its heart, used it for fuel, and now its screaming!"_

"_What do you mean, how can a sun be alive? Why's he saying that?"_

"_Because it's living in me."_

"_Oh my god!"_

"_HUMANS! You grab whatever's nearest and bleed it dry! AAAH! You should have scanned!"_

_He couldn't stop the sun…it would take him over, and he couldn't stop it… he needed help!_

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Officers Kearns and McFarlane were used to seeing drunks, drug addicts, and raving lunatics, working overnight in Manhattan, but the man that was currently screaming and thrashing on the ground in the middle of Times Square was somehow different. That screaming… so full of pain, rage, and terror… it was something that they wouldn't soon forget. Knowing that people in such a state were sometimes much stronger than they appeared, the officers called for back-up, and were glad they did. It ended up taking four officers to hold down and cuff the man, and by the time they were finished, the man had gone completely limp, so they had to carry him to the back of the police car. 

"So, what do you think? Crazy or drugs?" Kearns asked his partner, as he started the car and began to drive away.

"I don't think I even care at this point." McFarlane replied. "Let's just drop him off at Bellevue. He's probably just another one of those psych patients that they _treated_ and dropped on the street so that we'd have to deal with him. I hate this shift."

"Twenty Dollars on Crazy."

"I told you, I don't care."

"Thirty."

"I'm tired of all these bets. Every time we pick someone up. Ten Dollars he's guilty. Twenty says that it was meth. When are you going to grow up?"

"Fifty."

"Deal."

The officers dropped off their man at Bellevue and went about their shift without incident. The next morning, McFarlane finally received the transfer to mornings that he'd requested long ago, so he barely saw his old partner. So, it wasn't until months later that they thought about settling their bet. When they finally asked around, they couldn't get straight information about the John Doe. The doctors remembered admitting him, but the file had vanished, and no one seemed to recall the diagnosis. A missing file wasn't something that should be ignored, but in such a large city, no one ever made a fuss about a John Doe going missing. After all, there were plenty of paying patients to care about.


	8. Chapter 7

AN: Okay, I'm not totally sure about this chapter, but I figured that if I didn't update this, I never would. BTW, the name of the psychiatrist in here doesn't have to do with politics. It's part of the name of a family member.

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Doctor Who: The Long Way Back

Chapter 7

When the Doctor opened his eyes again, he was in yet another hospital bed, and yet again, he'd been stripped of his suit, and was now wearing white scrubs. Again, he found it a bit difficult to clear his head, but this time, it wasn't from a memory, but… _something else… he should know this_. _Sedatives! They drugged me! Who? Why?_ And, then, he recalled his last memory… that feeling of burning. He'd been with Martha and another woman. _Captain McDonnell, and she died, didn't she? But… the remaining crew was saved… Martha had saved them all, just like she had on the Valient._

It was then that he realized that he remembered everything. The Master's wife, Lucy, had reappeared, except that it wasn't really her. She was wearing the Master's ring and so the Master was acting through her. They were trying to steal his TARDIS again, and they'd found him in America. Once he'd realized their plans, the Doctor sent the TARDIS away somewhere safe. He and the Master/Lucy fought briefly. He'd destroyed the Master's ring, but not before he'd been injected with something. He didn't know what happened afterwards, but he guessed that Lucy must have taken out her rage on him and left him to perish.

The Master must've created the drug specifically to work on Time Lord physiology. Anything else, and his body would have been able to metabolize it. Now, however, he couldn't even metabolize the human sedatives that he'd been given. It was probably only the reaction between the two that allowed him to remember. Fat lot of good that did him now. If they lowered the sedatives, he'd probably forget everything again, but if they didn't, he'd be stuck like this forever.

* * *

Dr. Samantha Thatcher was new enough to Bellevue that she still wanted to change the world, but had been around long enough to know how broken the system was. Oh, she'd known that to a certain extent before she'd accepted the position of psychiatrist, but she'd wanted the experience so that she would know how to change it all for the better. However, she was losing hope that she could help anyone.

Then, she met a certain John Doe. He'd been delusional and violent, so they'd pumped him full of sedatives, strapped him to a bed, and, mostly, left him there. There were many others that suffered the same fate at this faceless institution, but when Sam met him, she saw something in his eyes that told her he was completely different. Though she couldn't really qualify it, he just didn't look insane. Groggy, yes, but that was from all the drugs, which she had ordered him off of. After all, it was hard to treat a person who was drugged to the point of being unconscious, as this man had been for a week. Now, however, she was able to visit and have a chat with him. She only hoped that he would be able to chat back with him.

When she entered his room, she found her patient awake and agitated.

"Hello sir, I'm Dr. Sam Thatcher, but you can just call me Sam. Do you remember who and where you are?" She asked.

"I'm the Doctor, but I'm not going to remember it for long." He replied quickly. "I've been drugged to forget everything by an old enemy of mine who I thought dead, and your sedatives are all that's keeping his drugs at bay. It's already getting more difficult to remember."

_Well, so much for him not being insane_, Sam sadly thought to herself. Aloud, she said, "Sir, you need to calm down. You are safe here…"

"I know the drill, but right now, I need to you to shut up, before I forget everything again. There's not much time. Call Captain Jack Harkness in Cardiff or Dr. Martha Jones in... Tell them that… tell them… my TARDIS is…I…was…. It's important…" The Doctor went from looking intense to totally lost in less than a minute. "What's important? Where am I? Why can't I remember?"

Sam wasn't sure what to do, but she did her best to try to reassure her patient before asking a nurse to take over and explain the rules and expectations of Bellevue. She knew she should be used to delusional patients, but there was something about this one that she believed. She didn't dare tell this to any of her colleagues, who'd attribute this to exhaustion, and just send her home. Instead, Sam found herself calling information and was surprised when she did, in fact, find a Captain Jack Harkness in Cardiff, Wales. _Of course, the most convincing delusions have a basis in fact_. Having already gone this far, she dialed the number.

"Hello, is this Captain Harkness? Hi, this is Dr. Thatcher from Bellevue Hospital… I understand that you are busy… but… Sir, I have a friend of yours that calls himself the Doctor." _That got his attention_ "Sir, your friend was arrested for attacking some police officers and brought here... No, sir, the police did not provoke him… I understand, sir, but he was delusional… Yes, sir… No, sir, we haven't. He's simply been sedated this last week, and… I'm sorry sir, but after giving me your name and the name of a Dr. Jones, he seemed to forget everything. It was almost like coming out of a blackout. I thought that he was delirious… Well, the nurse was with him, but she's probably back with the rest of the ward. Why, do you think he shouldn't be alone?… Well, he's in Ward D, but he might be moved by the time you get here…. Aren't you in Wales, now?… Hello? Hello?"

After the Captain hung up, Sam decided to tell her patient the good news, but he was gone. She asked around the guards and the others in the ward, but no one saw anything. It was as though the man, this Doctor, had vanished. After her fruitless search, she returned to her office and found a single white card, which read, "Thank you for believing – The Doctor."

* * *

The next time the Doctor awoke, he was back aboard the TARDIS, in the infirmary. Before he could sit fully up, Jack and Martha came in, and Martha gently helped him to a sitting position.

"We just can't leave you alone for a minute, can we, Doc?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, yeah. What happened?"

"Well," Martha began, "The best we can tell, the Master came back, and…"

"Yes, I know that part." The Doctor interrupted, "He wanted the TARDIS, but I sent her away and broke his ring, and he injected me with something."

"Yes," Martha continued, "The TARDIS ended up at Sarah Jane Smith's place. She was afraid that you were dead, so she called us. We looked for you for more than a month, before Dr. Thatcher called Jack. He called me and then he used his…" She looked to Jack.

"Vortex manipulator to pick you up." Jack finished. "It's a good thing I did before that hospital had a chance to do anything to you or before they found out you weren't human. I guess it's a good thing that the drugs stopped one of your hearts, because that would've been a dead giveaway, even for those quacks."

"How did you get rid of the toxin?"

"That was a little more difficult. You became completely delusional and we had to restrain you, so that you wouldn't hurt yourself. It took Owen, Martha, and a bit of help from the TARDIS, before we could find a cure, and we weren't sure it would work."

Martha took over, "By the end, you were so weak… the drug didn't just affect your memory, but it started to act like an auto-immune disease. Your body was attacking itself. We had to give you a complete blood transfusion."

"Half human, on my mother's side," The Doctor chuckled.

"What?" Jack asked.

"Never mind."

Jack gave the Doctor a questioning look, and spoke again, "Well, I guess it's a good thing that you left me those two trips, isn't it?"

The Doctor grinned, "Apology accepted."

"You knew something like this was going to happen, didn't you?' Jack asked.

"Well, with our track record, there was a pretty good chance something would happen to one of us. Better safe than sorry."

"So, two more trips?"

"No."

"But what if…"

"No."

Martha interrupted the bickering men, "Doctor, you're not fully recovered yet, so save it for a later time. You need to rest."

"Doctor's orders?"

She grinned, "Yes, doctor's orders. Good night."


	9. Epilogue

AN: Thanks for reading & bearing through my long delay! Enjoy!

* * *

Epilogue

Months later, in unrelated cities, the most extraordinary things happened to a few ordinary people. If you read the Evansville Courier the following March, you discovered that two different families from Princeton, Kentucky were visited by the Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol, and each won $1 million. One was a small town doctor and his wife, while the other was a widow and her son.

Around the same time, in anticipation of the new baseball season, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette printed a short fluff piece about a Tennessee man who'd met his fiancée, purely by chance, at a Pirates/Cardinals game the season before. The man decided to move to Pittsburgh to join his bride-to-be, and found a job with the front office staff – a dream come true.

Meanwhile, in New York City, a young psychiatrist began a campaign to fix public institutions such as Bellevue, so that they were no longer simply warehouses to hold the undesirables, but rather, places where the ill could be treated and returned to society.

In each of these three cities, those involved wondered whatever had happened to the strange man who had so briefly come into their lives, but whose impact they still felt. At different times, each thought that they had seen him, but they never met him again. They were sad at this, but they all felt that they were better people for having met him.


End file.
